Recalled to Life

by Wendy M Wilson

  The bat connected with the side of Pulau’s head with a satisfying thwack, and she heard Masterson exclaim, “Well played,” as Pulau let go of Frank and slid to the ground in an awkward heap, taking Frank to the ground with him.

  Masterson ran forward and jumped astride Pulau’s prone form. “I have him, I have him.” Together, he and Frank rolled Pulau on his front, and Masterson sat astride his back, close to the neck. When Pulau came to, he would find it difficult to remove the bulky reverend.

  Frank rose groggily to his feet, staring at the companion, stunned. “Betty?”

  She glared at Frank, still clutching the chloroform-soaked rag in her hand. “Yes Frank. Betty. And now you’ve ruined everything.”

  Milo Mountjoy, who had been standing there swaying, watching the events uncomprehendingly, lunged at Frank. “You bastard. I’m going to kill you. You said you didn’t know Elizabeth, you said she wasn’t there, and now…”

  Frank took a swipe at Mountjoy with his closed fist, but Mountjoy dodged out of his way, sneering. “I can outlast you,” he said. “I’m younger than you, and…”

  He was stopped in mid-sentence by a punch from Frank that hit him full on his mouth; he fell back, holding his jaw, then spat out blood. “You broke my bloody tooth, you…”

  Frank followed Mountjoy, fists up, ready to hit him again if he moved, but Betty threw herself between them. “Stop Frank, stop. Don’t hit him, don’t hit him. He’s our son Frank. He’s our son.”

  Milo Mountjoy let out a howl. “Noooo.”

  They stood as if in a tableau, like the one performed by partygoers at Christmas gatherings, of the Death of Admiral Nelson, no one knowing what to say. The impasse was broken when the chapel door opened and Captain Porter strode in, an Armed Constable on either side of him.

  Mountjoy tottered to his feet, blood still streaming from his chin. “Thank God you’re here, Captain Porter,” he said. “Arrest that man.”

  Captain Porter looked at him coolly. “I think not, Mr. Mountjoy. In fact, I think you and your father have some explaining to do. I’ve been talking to him for the last half hour and he’s admitted enough to have him sent home in disgrace.”

  Lady Debra stirred in her bath chair. “Not mine…not mine…” she whispered.

  Mette thought she saw a glimmer of something in Lady Debra’s eyes, a glimmer of knowledge and understanding

  21

  Colonel Whitmore

  “Colonel Whitmore, the Colonial Secretary, would like to see you,” said Captain Porter. “He was led to believe you had raped someone’s daughter when you were in India, and that you were still a threat to the woman. He gave permission for Colonel Mountjoy to have you picked up and incarcerated.” He scratched his cheek and looked thoughtfully at Frank. “I didn’t believe a word of it of course, but he asked me to round you up…”

  “You didn’t argue in my favour?”

  “Of course,” said Porter, not entirely convincingly. “But one does what one is ordered to do…I would have listened to your side, naturally, if you had talked to me in Feilding…”

  “You think the colonel was the one…?” asked Frank, thinking of the chloroform, and the woman who had used it on him. She and Milo had been left in the custody of the Armed Constables, who were to sort everything out. “And I didn’t rape anyone, by the way. They told Milo that I’d attacked his mother, or at least the woman he thought was his mother. But of course she isn’t; the companion, Elizabeth - I knew her as Betty - is his mother. I was barely twenty when I met her, and she was ten year’s older…we’d been drinking…she seduced…”

  Captain Porter waved his hand at Frank. “Twenty year olds are quite capable of making decisions about who they get into bed with.”

  “Well, I wasn’t exactly unwilling,” admitted Frank. “But we were caught up in a terrible event - the butcheries of Cawnpore, the escape - and emotions were high. I barely remembered what happened afterwards. I had another woman entirely in mind when I realized Milo Mountjoy might be my son.”

  Captain Porter looked at him sideways. “Hmph. I suppose she seduced you as well.”

  They’d taken Mette back to Palmerston and were on the way to Wellington on the down coach, where the captain intended to make a case for Frank with the government. The recent revelations would help, he thought.

  “Are you sure it was the colonel who was responsible for drugging me and taking me to the prison?” Frank asked. He’d delayed talking about the whole thing until Mette had been safely deposited at her sister’s house. Her sister would be another problem, as she was ready to kill Frank when she heard the truncated story Mette and Frank had told her. But he would take things one at a time.

  “You think otherwise?” said Porter.

  “I think it was Betty - Elizabeth,” said Frank. “She was the one with the chloroform. And Mette says she’s been with Lady Debra since the massacre, according to the cook. Karira learned I was taken off the Stormbird by a mysterious passenger in a long cloak who kept to his — or her, I believe — cabin, and a large man. A man answering to Pulau’s description was seen on the boat. I have a vague memory of a woman being with me on the jolly boat, and the two of them seem to work as a team. Both are loyal to the Mountjoy family..”

  “Perforce,” said Captain Porter. “Pulau is wanted for murder in Samoa. Colonel Mountjoy also had some contretemps in Samoa…reprimanded for supplying brandy to a local…but he had some pull, of course…his father-in-law…and got out under odd circumstances, taking Pulau with him. The constables have hold of Pulau now and will put him on a boat back to his homeland where no doubt the police will be waiting for him. Good work on Miss Jensen’s part, by the way, taking him down like that. A striking woman.” He smirked at his own pun. “You two make a splendid team.”

  Frank smiled. “I realize that,” he said. “I’ve been treating her as a precious flower, thinking she needed me to protect her. But she proved otherwise. And she discovered some excellent information about the Mountjoys when she bearded them in their …in their very comfortable den.”

  “You know Colonel Mountjoy was penniless before he married Lady Debra?” asked Porter. “And he’s a distant cousin of Lady Debra. She’s the only child of a very wealthy man. He took her to India to look for a husband, and the Colonel, with his inside knowledge, scooped her up as soon as she got there.”

  “Do you think he knew…?”

  “That you were his son’s father?” said Porter. “I believe he thought he was the father, but he understood Betty was the mother…knew Lady Debra wasn’t up to it, even before the massacre. Betty was probably on the scene before Lady Debra arrived. The pair of them colluded to pass off the young cuckoo as the grandson of Lady Debra’s father. Then the colonel saw you in Wellington and his world fell apart. Betty must have decided to fix it for him, and for herself. Young Mountjoy didn’t know initially, of course, although he was told that you had attempted to rape his mother, causing her to become an imbecile.”

  “A baronet,” said Frank, ignoring the comment about Lady Debra. He wasn’t completely sure Lady Debra’s mind was gone. Not entirely. “A man high up in the Admiralty.” Mette had filled him in on all her information during the trip to Palmerston, although she’d been uncharacteristically morose the whole time, huddled in the corner of the coach by herself. Tired, no doubt.

  “He was an Admiral of the Blue,” said Porter. “During the Napoleonic Wars. And he became immensely wealthy during that time. Brought back spices and tea from the East, gold coins from Spain…plunder, mostly…”

  “And my father brought back my mother,” said Frank. “And got the best of the bargain, I think.” He stared out the window of the coach through heavy grey sheets of rain. They were approaching the Otaki River, which was swollen from a recent fresh. The coachman had informed them that he may have to wait on this side until the river subsided.

  The coach stopped and the coachman leaned down, water dripping from his hat. “Sorry sirs, but this is as fa
r as I can go. We’ll get you across on the ferry and aboard the up coach, which will become the down coach, if you get my meaning. The up coach will return to Wellington and I’ll go back to Wanganui.”

  Captain Porter and Frank climbed down from the coach, pulling their collars up in a futile attempt to keep dry.

  “Reminds me of being on the campaign,” said Porter. “Remember how much it rained, and all the mud?”

  “I remember that day after the raid,” said Frank. “When we stopped the sergeant who had taken the head of the chief…because Whitfield had asked for ears as proof…and the sergeant thought a head would be better…”

  “Yes,” said Porter. “And that woman staring at us, holding her husband’s head. What an image that left on my eyeballs.”

  “Anahera’s back,” said Frank. He’d discovered that Anahera was the brother of the woman who held the head, whose two sons had also been beheaded, giving Anahera good cause for his vengeful rampage. “In Palmerston. Mette saw him in the Square, during the meeting last week.”

  “Constable Karira told me about that,” said Porter. “But we believe he’s gone… he’s heading back to the King Country, to the protection of the Maori King. He’ll hide out up there and make forays out, I would think.”

  “Did Karira also mention the body?” asked Frank cautiously. “The body in the paddock behind the Royal Hotel? An Armed Constable…”

  “Wilson?” said Porter. “Yes, he took us to where you found the body, but it was gone…here’s someone offering a ride across the river…” He gestured towards a young Maori in a canoe, who waited in the rain for customers from the coach. “Let’s take a canoe across. No point in waiting for a ferry.”

  As they climbed into the canoe and gave the man sixpence each — ridiculous, according to Porter, but they had no choice — he added, “Not that we don’t believe that Sergeant Wilson has been murdered, or that Anahera was responsible. But we can’t do anything without the body. There are still natives with rebel inclinations in Palmerston, and they must have got to the body first. It’ll be in the Manawatu River and heading out to sea by now. Could wash up on the beach I suppose. Too bad. He was a good sergeant.”

  “He shot at Anahera,” said Frank. “Wilson did. And at me. He killed most of the prisoners as they ran from the fire. A brutal act…”

  “Couldn’t let them get away,” said Porter. “Have them roaming around the countryside. Fortunate that he didn’t get you, of course….”

  “What will you do about Anahera?”

  “We’ll have to send a party up after him,” said Porter. “Into the King Country. Could be tricky…maybe we’ll have you along on that…”

  They boarded the newly reclassified down coach on the other side of the Otaki and settled back down into the comfort of the buttoned-velvet seats. Frank was soaked through to his skin. He tried to squeeze water from his jacket, but it clung to his body anyway. “I’m not going to be able to see Whitmore like this,” he said. “And I didn’t bring a change of clothing with me.”

  Porter sized him up. “We can get you fitted up at the regimental headquarters in Wellington,” he said. “Not as a Die Hard, however. You may have to settle for the 63rd. You’ll keep the uniform of course. Come in handy…we’ll put you in charge of training recruits when you’re back in Palmerston, and you’ll be there when we need you to go after Anahera.”

  “Mette will like that,” said Frank. He had no intention of heading off up the Wanganui River looking for Anahera in the King Country. And he and Mette probably wouldn’t be anywhere near Palmerston, if he had anything to say about it. “She’ll like the uniform, I mean, not the training part, or…”

  “Most women do,” said Captain Porter. “Which is why I don’t wear mine any more. Mrs. Porter doesn’t like it.”

  “I didn’t know there was a Mrs. Porter,” said Frank. “Is this a recent occurrence?”

  “Mrs. Porter and I have been together for twenty years,” said Porter. “Well before the Land Wars. Nothing like having a good woman by your side.”

  Frank nodded. “I know I’ve found myself the right woman, although…”

  “She seemed upset,” said Porter. “Understandable, really, I suppose.”

  “I hope she can forgive me,” said Frank. “I realize now how hard it must have been for her. I assumed she would understand how long ago it was, and how…”

  “The past is not important,” said Porter. “What you should be thinking about is your future together. She’ll forget the past eventually.”

  “I thought we might move to the South Island,” said Frank. “Buy a small farm, or I could find work in Christchurch…”

  “Too many earthquakes,” said Porter dismissively. “And the South Island? Away from her friends and family?”

  “But her friends and family are…”

  “In Palmerston,” said Porter. “Where you should also be. Some of Mrs. Porter’s family are in Gisborne. Scots, who as you know are…”

  “Difficult,” said Frank gloomily. “Like the Scandies, some of them.”

  Captain Porter slapped him on the shoulder. “It’s something you have to live with — the family. It’s part of the bargain.”

  The rain stopped and eventually they came down from the ranges to the flat land beside the Hutt River. From there it was a straight run to Wellington. Frank and Captain Porter had by then both fallen asleep, Frank with his arms crossed, head down, unmoved by Porter’s snores echoing through the night like the guns of Inkerman.

  Porter woke with a start as the coach bumped along the Hutt Road and rubbed his eyes. “I needed that,” he said. “We have to see Whitmore tonight for some reason. He’s in a hurry. We can get a hotel later.” He smiled to himself, as if he knew something that Frank did not. “The contemptible little brute will want to see you wearing a uniform of course, so we’ll stop for that as well.”

  “Contemptible little…?”

  “The inflated imbecile, the diminutive beast…a few of the many names Whitmore has been called. A magnificent military man, however.”

  “And the man responsible for asking for the ears of Maori rebels,” said Frank. “Which led to all our troubles with Anahera.”

  “You can’t judge a man by what he says, or what he’s called by others” said Porter. “Judge him by his success.”

  22

  The Consciousness of Plumpness

  A writer in the Australasian says: “If anyone wishes to grow fleshy, a pint of milk taken before retiring at night will soon cover the scrawniest bones. Nothing is more coveted by thin women than a full figure; and nothing will so rouse the ire, and provoke the scandal of the ‘clipper builds’ as the consciousness of plumpness in a rival. In cases of fever and summer complaints, milk is now given with excellent results. The idea that milk is feverish has exploded, and it is now the physician’s great reliance in bringing through typhoid patients, or those in too low a state to be nourished by solid food. It is a mistake to scrimp the milk pitcher.

  Manawatu Times, January 30, 1878

  Back in Palmerston and staying temporarily with her sister, Mette still felt sad. Everything had been explained. Frank had met Lady Debra and Elizabeth, the companion, then known as Betty, a common nickname for Elizabeth, when he escorted them from Cawnpore. Lady Debra had broken her ankle, and after he’d helped carry her out, he and Betty had shared a few beers together, and one thing had led to another…perfectly explainable, but it made her cry every time she thought of it, especially now she had seen the companion.

  All the Scandies in Palmerston were unhappy about Gottlieb’s death. Few of them had known him, and no one knew that he had attacked Mette in the night, or that he had tried to throw her off the cliff into the Gorge. But they were sorry to discover he’d been murdered and were ready to attend his funeral and lament his passing, dressed in their best mourning clothes while they did so.

  The ladies at the Lutheran church had decorated it with pine branches, and the woman from the
clearing arrived for the funeral in dark clothing and shawls, kept in boxes for just such an occasion. Many of them carried handkerchiefs to dab at their eyes, crying over a man they had never met and probably would not have liked.

  “Poor Gottlieb,” said Johanna Nissen to Mette. “Imagine being murdered by that terrible savage. Gottlieb must have been terrified…a tomahawk. I wonder how he felt when he saw that axe coming towards him…”

  Mette had a fairly good idea how Gottlieb felt when the tomahawk came toward him. She had been there. She had watched as Frank threw it at him, and had fainted with fear, worried that if Frank missed they would both be doomed. But he had not missed, and Gottlieb had plunged into the Gorge and been swept away in the Manawatu River, the tomahawk stuck in his head. And then Frank had pulled her back up from the brink of the Gorge, with help from his horses. He was so brave and strong…

  The service was conducted by the Reverend George Sass, the first Danish Lutheran minister in New Zealand, who had come down from Norsewood for the occasion. He was a distinguished gentleman with a pointed beard and a carefully-curled moustache, and having him at your funeral was considered an honour.

  Agnete arrived at the church with Pieter and Maren. She wore a demure pearl grey dress, her head covered in a lace shawl, and walked behind Pieter with her hands clasped in front of her, looking down. She almost resembled a nice person. She and Pieter and Maren sat at the back of the church next to Mette, Mette feeling like a terrible hypocrite. Frank had still not returned from Wellington, and Mette was finding it difficult not to worry about what they had discovered in Wanganui and how it would affect their lives. She did not think at all about Gottlieb, or Frederic, or Agnete.